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51/20: In Which My Brain Hurts
Oct. 2nd, 2024 09:30 amBeing on something that resembles a normal schedule is more disturbing than I'd have expected. Wednesday night I slept for something like six hours, and then stayed in bed semi-conscious for a couple more, then got up as though I were a farmer who had to go feed the chickens and slop the hogs. Since then I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about cooking and eating Tuesday dinner, but haven't gotten around to it. I feel very sad and my fingers are still sore.
That dinner is going to involve smashing some garlic, and I remember how much smashing garlic hurt last time I did it without gloves, and how much hassle it was the next time I did it /with/ gloves, and I really don't want to do either, but I've gotten pretty hungry. Thinking about it is hurting my brain, so I feel like Mr. Gumby, who is a fictional character, and I don't know who to blame for me not being a real person anymore, or for feeling like a fictional character in a Monty Python sketch, which is even worse. I mean I love Monty Python, but I don't want it to be my life.
And I saw a bug of some sort in my eating utensil drawer. It looked like it could have been a small roach, but it scurried away too fast for me to be sure. Now I'm thinking I should wash all the utensils, but I'd need to wear those rubber gloves again, because of my sore fingers, and I hate using the gloves, so I'd like to minimize any dishwashing. That bug had bad timing. Maybe I'll make and eat Tuesday dinner, and then I'll have dishes to wash and can then also wash the utensils the bug violated.
It's too early in the morning for my poor Gumby brain to deal with all this thinking. It's always too early in the morning. It's always too early, morning or not. Gumby brain /always/ hurts.
That dinner is going to involve smashing some garlic, and I remember how much smashing garlic hurt last time I did it without gloves, and how much hassle it was the next time I did it /with/ gloves, and I really don't want to do either, but I've gotten pretty hungry. Thinking about it is hurting my brain, so I feel like Mr. Gumby, who is a fictional character, and I don't know who to blame for me not being a real person anymore, or for feeling like a fictional character in a Monty Python sketch, which is even worse. I mean I love Monty Python, but I don't want it to be my life.
And I saw a bug of some sort in my eating utensil drawer. It looked like it could have been a small roach, but it scurried away too fast for me to be sure. Now I'm thinking I should wash all the utensils, but I'd need to wear those rubber gloves again, because of my sore fingers, and I hate using the gloves, so I'd like to minimize any dishwashing. That bug had bad timing. Maybe I'll make and eat Tuesday dinner, and then I'll have dishes to wash and can then also wash the utensils the bug violated.
It's too early in the morning for my poor Gumby brain to deal with all this thinking. It's always too early in the morning. It's always too early, morning or not. Gumby brain /always/ hurts.
